Words
by Melanie Athene
Summary: It started as an argument.


Words are the enemy, you say. To trust  
The antic, wayward movements of the tongue  
Is what the fool must do because he must.

~ _Dialogue_ by Maureen Cannon

* * *

It started as an argument.

In all honesty, it was a stupid argument about nothing of importance, but it quickly escalated until a red-faced human and a feather-ruffled angel stood almost nose to nose in (appropriately enough) the War Room. Unkind accusations flew. Fierce counter attacks followed. They'd been at it for the better part of an hour now, snarky side remarks long since morphed into an out-and-out shouting match, with no end to the hostility in sight.

At this point, Dean couldn't even remember who had started the argument (he had), or what had set it off (Castiel had picked up a research book Dean had half-heartedly planned on reading).

In truth, the origins of the quarrel were rooted half an hour before the ill-timed appropriation of the book. Castiel had casually mentioned that he was leaving... again. Days after they had got him back from Lucifer's clutches, and hours away from being fully healed after a nasty encounter with several of his pissed off brothers. This news did not sit well with Dean. He'd done his best to shrug it off, but inside he was seething. The resentment festered and grew until it could no longer be contained.

Hurtful things were said: petty, vicious words that cut to the bone with their sharp edges. Old grudges, long ago forgiven if not forgotten, were dredged up and fired like poison darts, the sting of each barb further fuelling the fire. Sam tried time and time again to defuse the situation, to provide a distraction, to ease the tension in the room with humour or the offer of an ice cold beer. At best he was ignored. All too often, Dean's snarl or Castiel's glare were turned his way.

Just as it seemed that the confrontation was destined to become physical (either Dean would throw a punch, or Castiel would smite him on the spot), Sam threw up his hands in disgust and stalked off towards his bedroom. "Bickering like an old married couple," floated down the hall behind him, the comment clearly pitched loudly enough that it would pierce through all the noise Dean and Castiel were making.

At first, it appeared that both Sam's departure and his parting words were going to go unnoticed by the furious combatants, eye-locked as they were in their own little world. But midway through Castiel's latest rebuttal, Sam's well-chosen words sank in and Dean abruptly began to laugh. He skipped the chuckle stage entirely, and barrelled straight through into huge guffaws that bent him over double, hands braced on his knees, as he tried to catch his breath.

Confused, Castiel took a step back and tilted his head to one side, which only made Dean laugh all the harder.

"If y-you were a g-girl..." he chortled, swiping a sleeve across tear-filled eyes.

"If I had a female vessel?"

"Y-yeah. If you were a girl... and we argued like this... I'd just kiss you to shut you up."

"That is an effective means to end an argument?"

"Depends on the girl... Sometimes she kisses back, sometimes you get your face slapped."

Castiel considered this in silence. "So," he concluded eventually, "you would like me to take a female vessel so you can kiss me?"

"No! That would just be weird. I like the holy tax accountant vibe you have going. I just meant if you were a girl, and we argued like this, I would probably kiss you."

"As an apology?"

"Yes. No. Kinda." Dean rubbed the back of his neck with one hand as he pretended to study the books Sam had left strewn on the table. "More like as a way to express how I was feeling — how I feel." He didn't turn his head, but he sensed the comforting presence of the angel as Castiel moved to stand close behind him. "Sometimes, words aren't enough," he whispered. "They just get in the way."

"Sometimes humans say one thing, and mean another," Castiel agreed. "I suppose angels do too. It does tend to needlessly complicate communication."

"Actions speak louder than words?"

"Indeed. They do."

Dean still couldn't bring himself to look up from the table.

"I'm not a girl, Dean. But if such an offer were to be made, I would not be opposed to kissing you. I too have... feelings... that do not easily translate into words. Not the right words, anyway."

Dean did turn around at this, surprise and longing playing across his face. The same longing he found reflected in the angel's eyes.

"Can it really be that easy?" Dean breathed.

Castiel's answer was to lunge forward and mash a clumsy, enthusiastic kiss full on Dean's lips. And then he darted back, his eyes so wide Dean thought he might fall in and drown in their blue depths.

"I wouldn't call it easy," Castiel said, frowning as Dean raised a curious finger to his freshly bruised lips. "It's a lot like falling. Scary. Unknown. Out of control."

"That sounds about right," Dean moved closer and rested his hands on Castiel's shoulders. "But the first step is behind us now, and that's the scariest one. You were brave enough to take it, Cas. The least I can do is follow your lead. And, this time, we'll fall together, okay?"

Dean didn't wait for a response. Instead, he let his arms slide down to cradle Castiel, drawing him closer than close as he finally kissed his angel the way he had always dreamed of kissing him. Slowly. Sweetly. Passionately. Gentle nibbles and long, lingering kisses that stole his breath away. Castiel's lips parted as a flower opens to the sun. Dean tasted the shape of his name as it formed on the tip of Castiel's tongue, but all that escaped the angel's lips was a soft, contented sigh as his arms came up to wrap around his human.

"Don't go," Dean murmured. "Stay."

"All you ever had to do was ask," Castiel replied, tenderly nudging Dean's lips back into alignment with his own.

It started as an argument.

But it ended with a kiss.


End file.
